


A Sourwolf's Christmas Carol

by The_Unnatural_Disaster (havent_got_a_clue)



Series: Reckless Serenade [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas, Consent Issues, Dark, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Holidays, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Stiles/Peter (sort of), Wall Sex, bastardization of a classic tale, the future is really dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havent_got_a_clue/pseuds/The_Unnatural_Disaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because you can't tell me that Derek doesn't make the perfect Ebenezer Scrooge. </p><p>Derek hates Christmas and is acting more sour than ever. He pushes away everyone on Christmas Eve so he is alone. But he's visited by the spirit of someone from his past who warns him that his behaviour is leading him down a dangerous path and he must change his ways or be doomed forever, too. </p><p>Three Spirits visit him and show him how things were, how they are, and how they will be if nothing changes. Will he be able to see the error of his ways in time to change the future for the better?</p><p>Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

December comes and the weather turns as it always does. The decorations adorn businesses and houses alike and the people of Beacon Hills are just a bit nicer to each other than they are the rest of the year. The holidays in a small town seem to bring the best out of her residents. Except for one.  
  
  
  
It all starts with a Christmas present.  
  
“What the hell is this?” Derek looks at the shiny wrapped box Stiles offers him like it is going to explode or bite him or bite him, burrow its way into his skin, and THEN explode.  
  
“It’s a Christmas present. Don’t tell me wolves don’t celebrate the holidays. You are part human, too, you know. I mean, It can be a Hanukkah present, too, if that’s what--I mean, I never asked, so...it’s a holiday present. From me. To you.”

Stiles stumbles over his feet as much as he stumbles over his words.

“Anyway, are you going to take it or are you just going to glare at me some more?”  
  
“But..why?”  
  
Stiles blinks slowly and cocks his head to the side.  
  
“Merry Christmas?” There’s an implied “duh” to his tone.  
  
“No.”  
  
“No? What do you mean ‘no?’ It’s Christmas Eve. When should I give this to you? July 4th?”  
  
“NO! I don’t like Christmas! Or any holiday, for that matter! Tomorrow is a day just like any other and the only reason I’m not making all of you come in and help me look for that missing wraith that’s, by the way, still missing and STILL KILLING, is that I know all of you would be whiny and completely useless and would probably get me killed in the process!  Just leave, Stiles! I have work to do! Go home!”

 

Derek has slowly backed Stiles up to the door. He has the decency to wipe the smile that had been on his face off and now he just looks...sad.  
  
“Fine.” He nods as he speaks, like it helps him understand. “Fine. Ok. I’m gone. Merry Christmas, Derek, I guess."  
  
And he walks out the door.

 

 

  
Derek stomps around the train station, where his pack are _supposed_ to be training together.  
  
“SCOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTT!”  
  
Scott rolls his eyes and hands the tinsel he was holding to Erica.  
  
“Yes, Derek?” He smiles with mock innocence, hoping that he could emulate a rosy-cheeked joy even while staring down the very real threat of dismemberment.  
  
“Who told you it was ok to put a Christmas tree in here?” It is less a question and more of a challenge. Derek briefly considers strangling Scott with some garland, but settles for getting up in his face and growling. Much more manly.  
  
Scott, to his credit, does have the decency to look a little terrified of him, but quickly regains his composure.  
  
“C’mon, Derek. It’s the holidays. We’ve been fighting and killing and dying and we’re just trying to lighten things up around here.”  
  
Derek backs off Scott and turns away. “I don’t do holidays. Especially Christmas. I suppose you want to disappear for Christmas Day, then? Go home and stuff yourself and open presents and sing and all that?”  
  
“Well, my mom and I always have Christmas dinner together. And Stiles and his dad are coming, too. And Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. I think even Danny and his family are coming. And Allison’s trying to convince her dad that we have indeed broken up and it’s ok for us to be in the same room together to celebrate. No one should be alone on Christmas, Derek. You should come, too.”  
  
“Yeah, right into a house filled with the Sheriff, who thinks I’m a murderer, Chris Argent, who wants to murder ME, and all that holiday cheer on top of it? Good thinking, Scott.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s at my house and my mom doesn’t allow bloodshed in the house. Besides, you’ve been all but cleared of being a murder suspect and you and Mr. Argent haven’t fought for months.” Like it’s no big thing. Like the holidays will make the wounds soften temporarily.  
  
“No, Scott. I’m staying here and looking for that wraith and that’s that.”  
Scott looks like a kicked puppy, but he knows when to quit. “Whatever, Derek. I’ll just...I’ll just see you in a few days. If you change your mind--”

"I won't." He growls it out to drive the point home.

  
Scott sighs and motions to Isaac and Erica and they stop decorating the little Christmas tree.  They leave together.

  
  
Derek is alone. The way he prefers it, right?

  
  
He slumps down in a dusty chair and stares at the half-decorated Christmas tree for awhile. It’s lopsided and sparse on one side. Most likely the cheapest tree on the lot. Nothing like...No. No. No good ever comes from getting nostalgic.  
  
Derek sits for a long time trying not to think about anything.  
  
And then the noise starts.  
  
It starts as a clanking. Not a loud one, but enough to get his attention. It’s a train station. Of course there’s clanking.  
  
CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.  
  
But the old “air in the pipes” noise doesn’t sound like heavy footsteps.  
  
The wolf reacts first; his claws and fangs start to descend. This isn’t metalwork settling. This is danger.  
  
He jumps up, ready for a fight, but a thorough search of the room reveals no threats hiding in the shadows.  
  
But still the clanks grow louder.  
  
CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.  
  
The noise rings in his ears, fills the room like it’s coming from everywhere, from nowhere, and it’s disorienting and dizzying to try to track the source.  
  
It’s closer now. Somewhere in the room, in front of him, inside him maybe, and it’s now accompanied by inhuman screeches and moans; like demons ascending from hell as they are ripped apart limb by limb and he _still can’t see it_.  
  
The station has grown colder. He can see his breath and he’s not stupid. There’s a ghost. He’s never encountered one personally, but, hell, why not? He’s a werewolf. Who is he to say that ghosts don’t exist?  
  
“Ok, you can stop it now. I know what you are and I know what you’re doing. I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but I’m not human and I don’t scare that easily, so show yourself!”  
  
“DEREK!”  
  
“Holy shit.” A figure materializes slowly from a mist. It’s covered in heavy chains and iron balls. “Kate?”  



	2. Chapter 2

“Derek.” Kate Argent. Murderer. Murdered. And now a spirit doomed to walk the earth.  
  
“What are you doing here, Kate?”  
  
She smirks like the old Kate did so often. “That’s the best greeting you can give an old friend? You can at least invite me to sit down.”  
  
“But you’re a---”  
  
The spirit of Kate plops herself down on a chair opposite Derek and stares at him. “So. Here I am. Dead. I suppose it’s fitting seeing as I, you know, killed most of your family and everything. Oh, and almost killed you, too.”  
  
“I remember. Is this your punishment?” He points to the chains and iron balls weighing her spirit down.  
  
“And yours, too, Derek, if you don’t change your ways.” She smiles a bit. “You see, Derek, all the misery and pain that initially attracted us to each other? That made us who were are...or were, in my case. Miserable, horrible people. I became such a terrible person. I was so alone that I killed for fun! And look at you! Now _you_ are pushing everyone who cares about you even a tiny bit away. And you don’t have that many people who care, do you?” She smirks.  
  
“No, soon you’ll have no one left and you’ll be just like me. Probably worse. I can only imagine the trail of bodies you’ll leave behind. I wouldn’t care, but they...” She points upward. “...consider me warning you like this a sort of ‘good behaviour’ credit I can use to shave off some time in these things.” She picks at a chain, dragging it loudly on the floor.  
  
“So you put on this big show and I’m supposed to magically become all cheery and full of joy?”  
  
“Oh, Derek.” She pinches a cheek and it feels ice cold on his skin. “ _Sweetie_. I know you better than that. I’m not so far gone that I think you’re actually going to take anything I say seriously. This is just the beginning. You’re going to be visited by three ghosts. One tomorrow at one am. The second the next night at the same time. And the third the next night at midnight. Derek, look, after all that’s happened, I still consider you the best sex I ever had, so I’m going to throw you a bone here: Listen to them. It’s your last chance to make things right before you end up like me. If you only listen to one thing I say, listen to this now. Goodbye, Derek. You won’t be seeing me again after this.”  
  
Kate stands, the heavy clanking of her chains following her every movement as she retreats to the door. Derek jumps up and tries to follow, but Kate holds up her hand as if to stop him. The door opens of its own accord and Derek rushes out to try to catch her, but as the mist starts clearing, he can see several ghosts floating in the air around him. Kate steps back to join her fellow spirits, weighed down with similar chains and weights. They all look haunted and sad, burdened with the sins they committed in life. A mist begins to rise and the spirits disappear into it, leaving no trace in the cool December night.  
  
Derek shakes his head and finds his way back to his chair. He slumps down in it, wondering seriously if he’d been cursed or poisoned when he wasn’t looking, but an overwhelming exhaustion overtakes him and he is asleep in seconds.  
  
He awakes with a start what felt like minutes later and checks his phone. Midnight. Midnight the next day. He’d slept away an entire day! He stretches out and as he does, remembers seeing the ghost of Kate Argent. It must have been a dream. He’d been working too hard, training, hunting, keeping his pack safe and trying to keep it together. _I must have fallen asleep and dreamt it all._  
  
But.  
  
But...just to be sure, he resolves to stay awake until one.  
  
He checks his phone obsessively every fifteen minutes. 12:15...12:30...12:45...12:59....  
  
He watches as the numbers change to 1:00 and snorts. “You’re losing it, Derek.”  
  
But as soon as he speaks, the room fills with light, so bright it nearly blinds Derek and he has to shield his eyes from it. After a second or two, he peers through his fingers to see a figure standing not 6 inches from his face.  
  
It is a strange figure. At once childlike and aged. Like he is looking at an old man and a baby in the same body. It is dressed in white robes and trimmed from head to toe in flowers and holly and shining brightly with a light that seemed to emanate from the top of his head.  
  
“Are you the spirit Kate warned me about?”  
  
“I am.” His voice is soft and gentle.  
  
“What do you want from me?”  
  
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. Specifically, your past. Let’s take a walk, Derek.” He extends a hand that Derek does not take.  
  
“Derek, I’m here to help you. Now, give me your hand.” Derek gingerly pushes his hand out and the spirit latches onto it and Derek finds himself instantly standing in a beautiful house, full of life and love and happiness. His house.  
  
His house before the fire.  
  
He sees his mom and dad and aunts and uncles and cousins and...and he sees Laura. There is a huge Christmas tree in the living room and he sees himself with Laura and his cousins putting the finishing touches on it. Laura throws tinsel on the branches while his younger self lifts up his youngest cousin to hang a star on one of the top branches. They are giggling and guessing what is inside the brightly wrapped presents.  
  
“You weren’t always so down on the holidays, were you, Derek?” He prods Derek gently but Derek pushes him away. He wants to bathe in this memory for as long as he can.  
  
  
His mom’s voice rings out above the laughter. “Derek! Laura! Dinner is almost ready! Get your cousins washed up and come to the table!”  
  
Derek walks around the corner to the dining room to see his uncle Peter, so young and happy sneaking little wrapped gifts onto every kid’s plate.  
  
“Derek, are you crying?” The spirit offers him a part of the fabric of his robe to blow his nose on.  
  
Derek wiped away a tear. “No. Just....”  
  
The Hale family finds their way to the table and begins the holiday meal. There is more laughter and tales of generations past and gentle lectures of the sanctity of family and pack and togetherness.  
  
And Derek is tearing up more.  
  
They make their way to the living room to drink eggnog and pass out presents. Laura sits on Peter’s lap and he makes her laugh with delight as she unwraps her gifts and it is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. He misses his sister so much and he misses what Peter was before the fire. And he misses his parents dearly. Nothing was ever the same after the fire.  
  
And now Derek is sobbing. “Spirit. I can’t. Please take me home.”  
  
“This isn’t real, Derek. These are but shadows of what once was.”  
  
“Spirit, please!” His claws threaten to descend. He balls his fists at his sides, ready to attack whatever he can get of the spirit. “I can’t take this! Please take me home!”  
  
He reaches for the spirit, not caring if he damages it or not, but before he makes contact, he finds himself in his bed, overcome by drowsiness, the bright light of his phone screen shining in his eyes displaying the time and weather, and barely has time to wonder what had just happened before he is asleep again.  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

He awakes--minutes later, hours later, but he instinctively knows that it’s around 1 am. And he knows that the second ghost is on its way.  
  
He rolls over and swings his legs so he can stand. No use being vulnerable in his bed when his next visitor shows up.

As soon as his toes touch the cold concrete floor, an incredible smell wafts through the room. There’s ham, turkey, sausage, sweet potatoes, fresh bread, and pies. He cranes his neck to pick up the source of the scent and as he does the room around him lights up and transforms before his eyes. Long vines of ivy snake around every support in the room, grass grows through the floor and sprouts wildflowers in red, green, and ivory. Holly and mistletoe stretch down from the ceiling and cover the walls. The room is alive with festive decor and comforting scents of Christmas.  
  
And in the middle of the greenery and food is a man. A man at least twice his height and twice his girth. He holds an enormous turkey drumstick in one hand and an old fashioned torch in the other. As gentle as the first spirit had seemed, it was no match for the man before him. He has a genial air about him and a sparkle in his eye that matches his cheery voice.  
  
“Derek! Come here! Join me! Let’s get to know each other a little, shall we?”  
  
Derek stumbles forward over low-growing vines and a thick carpet of grass.  
  
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!” The spirit takes a bite of turkey.  
  
“Ok, spirit. Teach me my lesson. I’m ready.” No use in fighting it.  
  
“Touch my robe!”  
  
Derek does as he is told and the room around him vanishes in an instant, replaced by a warmly lit room. There’s laughter and the sounds of a feast, glasses clinking, silverware clattering. The details come slowly into view and he recognizes Scott’s house. Everyone is there--Scott, Scott’s mom, Stiles, the Sheriff, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Danny and his family, Lydia, and Allison is there with Chris.  
  
For the most part, everyone is smiling and relaxed, engaged in conversation and the food around them. Even Chris, who is keeping one steely blue eye on Scott at all times, is joining in on the fun.  
  
Derek can’t help but notice one person who is not having a good time: Stiles.  
  
Stiles picks at his food and is half listening to the conversations around him. He looks miserable.

More than that, though. He looks...sad. A world-weary sadness Derek can recognize.  
  
“He misses his mom.” Derek looks at the spirit behind him. "I can tell."  
  
“You can relate, Derek. Holidays are always hard when someone important is missing, aren’t they? You, more than anyone, know that. You two have a lot in common. More than you think.” The spirit stands next to Derek and they silently watch Stiles for a while longer.  
  
The night progresses and everyone retreats to the living room for gifts. They are mostly fun novelty gifts with a few earnest tries at “grown-up” gifts (Lydia, naturally, gives everyone gift cards to Macy’s. Attached to each gift card is a list of “acceptable” clothing she strongly suggests they buy with them).  
  
Box by box the pile of each gift giver disappears. Stiles’ pile remains at one, though. The present he’d tried to give Derek.  
  
Scott catches Stiles’ eye and gives him a sympathetic look. Stiles looks downward and bites his lip.  
  
Derek doesn’t quite know what to make of this silent conversation.  
  
“You don’t know why it was so important that he give that gift to you, do you, Derek?”  
  
“No. No, I really don’t.” _Because I'm not worth giving anything to._  
  
“Then my work here isn’t done yet, it seems.”  
  
The adults help each other clean up the piles of paper and ribbon. Scott looks anxious, darting his eyes from Chris to Allison several times. It’s Lydia, of all people, who notices Scott’s disposition and puts it all together.  
  
She rolls her eyes like she’s been asked to do actual hard work and “accidentally” corners Chris under the mistletoe someone had put in the doorway to the kitchen.  
  
“Oh! Mr. Argent!” She flips her hair wantonly and smiles. “We’re under the mistletoe!”  
  
Before he can protest, she kisses him on the cheek, obscuring his view with her perfectly coiffed hair. Scott takes the in and slips Allison a small, amateurly wrapped box and is on the other side of the room before Lydia’s lips are off Chris, who has the decency to blush a little.  
  
Both Allison and Scott shoot Lydia a look of intense gratitude and Lydia shrugs. “So, Scott. I trust that gift card will NOT be going to more hoodies. Am I right?”  
  
Scott laughs. “Yes, ma’am.” He consults the list of Lydia approved clothes, though, and cringes.  
  
Derek follows Stiles as he takes the lone present and walks it back to his Jeep. He throws it in the backseat and slams the door with a heavy sigh, leaning against the car door in thought.  
  
Scott had followed him out and walks up to him to put a brotherly arm around him. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I know how much it meant to you.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s not everyday you finally work up the nerve to say something like that. And, you know, bonus because it’s the holidays and I could have played it off if it didn’t go well, but he shut me down so fast. I didn’t even get to play it off. He wouldn’t even touch it. But, I guess it’s better to know and move on instead of dwelling on it. No big deal, right?” Stiles sighs like it’s anything but no big deal.  
  
“Stiles, it IS a big deal. This was important to you. And I’m proud of you for trying. I’m just sorry he turned you down. If he can’t see what an awesome person you are, he doesn’t deserve to have you. I mean, you’ve saved his life and he’s saved yours and you put up with him even though you don’t even have to. That’s...that’s something special he could have had and he’s an idiot.”  
  
“It still hurts, though.” Stiles rests his head on Scott’s shoulder.  
  
“I know, buddy. I know. Come on, let’s get back inside and get some of my mom’s chocolate pie. It won’t take away all the pain, but it sure does help.”  
  
Scott leads Stiles back inside the house, leaving Derek and the spirit alone.  
  
“Do you get it now?” The Spirit raises his torch to see Derek’s face better.  
  
“Stiles...has feelings? For me?” He’s bewildered. “Why?”  
  
“I’m asking myself the same question, Derek. But he doesn’t just have feelings for you. The boy is crazy for you. Has been ever since he saved your life that first time. And, really, Derek, Scott’s right. You two have done so much for each other and you both carry the same loss in your hearts, you two would be amazing together. If you would stop being such an ass all the time. He was going to give you that present--something he thought you would like, by the way. Took him weeks of planning to come up with the perfect gift for you. Anyway, he was going to give you your Christmas present and then tell you how he feels about you. It took a lot of courage to even try and you flat out rejected him before he even had the chance. Do you hate the kid that much, Derek?"

  
“Hate...nooooo. I couldn't...I don't....” Derek trails off, trying to absorb everything.  
  
“Look, I’m not Cupid. It’s not my job to get you two together, but at least let him down gently. It’s a sensitive time for an 18 year old who’s never been in love like this. How you handled it today really affects him for the rest of his life.”  
  
“What? I...for the rest of his life? But I didn’t even...I mean, I didn’t know that he was...I would have--”  
  
“Too late now, Derek. You need to see how you treat people affects them. You’re pushing everyone away when they are trying to build something with you. You can’t have the family you lost, but you can build a new one with new traditions and new experiences. And instead you are losing them, too. Scott, Isaac, the rest of them, they’ll be ok in the long run, but Stiles isn’t going to recover so easily. Your repeated rejections leave a permanent mark on him. A simple and gentle rejection would have done wonders, but you bit his head off before he could even explain what he was doing there.”  
  
“But I didn’t mean to--”  
  
“Didn’t mean to what, Derek? Reject him? Let your feelings on Christmas ruin what could have been a special moment? Are you telling me you aren’t averse to his feelings toward you?”  
  
“If I could just go back and--”  
  
“Oh, Derek. You need to see the consequences of your actions. You need to see that how you treat the people who care for you can mess up their lives forever.”  
  
The spirit starts to dissipate. “My time here is over. I must leave you now. I cannot teach you the lesson you need to learn here. You must think upon your actions and learn from your mistakes the hard way. You must see what your actions do to others.”  
  
In the distance, a clock begins striking midnight. With each chime, the spirit fades more and more until he is nothing and Derek is alone.  
  
He begins walking towards the light of Scott’s house, desperate to get to Stiles, even if he can’t see Derek. Each step grows heavier and heavier and a fine mist arises, choking him like it’s smoke or water in his lungs. The twelfth stroke chimes and the mist gathers thicker and thicker until, before him, is a solemn spirit, draped in a hooded cloak, black as night and silent as the grave.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the rating goes waaaaaay up. Happy holidays indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, 5 chapters instead of 4. My bad. I had more to say than I thought.

Derek can’t move, can’t run or back away. He can only watch the spirit form before him, its cloak and hood obscuring what must surely be a terrifying spectre underneath.  
  
“Are--are you the third spirit?"  
  
The spirit nods. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Future.” If Death and all the beasts of Hell spoke in one voice, it would still be less terrifying than the raspy bellow that fills his ears.  
  
The spirit raises its arm and points a bony finger with decaying flesh clinging to it. Derek can’t make out exactly what is in the distance in the direction it points, but he knows he has to find out.  
  
The spirit glides along beside him as he walks toward a dim light. The light gets closer and closer, but it does not warm or comfort. It’s cold, fluorescent, artificial. It emanates from a run down house in surrounded by pine trees.  
  
Derek looks to the spirit, but receives no orders.  He walks closer to the house to investigate what could be so important about it.  
  
The windows are half covered in a shoddy attempt at blinds. They are in disrepair and it’s easy to peek inside. He sees...He sees Stiles.

  
  
Older Stiles. Maybe 25. His hair is longer and unkempt and he’s thinner. Shockingly thin. His eyes and cheeks are sunken in and his clothes, already a small size, hang off him like they were meant for a man 50 pounds heavier. There’s no light in his eyes; he’s dead inside.  
  
Stiles sits curled up on a ratty old sofa. Derek wants nothing more than to burst in and take him away from this, but all he can do is watch the sadness in front of him.  
  
Derek hears some noise in another room and whatever it is makes Stiles cringe. His eyes look anxiously toward the entrance to the room and Derek is taken aback when Peter walks in with an older man he doesn’t recognize.  
  
The sit down on the sofa, sandwiching Stiles between them. Stiles seems to switch into some kind of auto-pilot the moment they join him.  
  
Stiles reaches for Peter’s jeans, unbuttoning them, pushing them down as Peter lifts his hips. Peter turns so he is lengthwise on the sofa and Stiles has to settle between his legs. The other man takes the opportunity to pull Stiles’ hips up and push down his sweatpants.  
  
Derek can hear Stiles moan but it’s not of pleasure.

  
The man unbuttons himself and pulls out his cock, fisting it a little to get it harder. Without preparing Stiles in any way, he begins to push into him. Stiles winces but does not protest. As soon as he’s in completely, Stiles begins to go down on Peter and Derek has to look away.  
  
He’s enraged, terrified. “Spirit! What the hell is this? What are you showing me?”  
  
“I’m showing you the future, Derek. Look.”  
  
“I can’t.” Bodies, blood, gore, entrails, nothing he’s seen in the past will ever compare to this. Something primal in him is about to break free and all of hell will be loose then.  
  
The spirit extends his ragged, bony hand and squeezes Derek’s jaw to force him to look at what is happening inside the house.  
  
“You did this, Derek. _You_. Your pack left you, one by one. Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, everyone. And then Peter left. Went off to join this horrid pack just to spite you. You were his last link to humanity and you pushed him away and look what he becomes.”  
  
Derek looks at his uncle, fangs out and yanking on Stiles’ hair as he sucks him off.  He's not enjoying Stiles as much as he's enjoying what he's done to Stiles to make him this subservient.  
  
“No remorse. No good in him. He turned off that narrow road to redemption as soon as he gave up on you.”  
  
“And Stiles?” He balls his fists at his sides just thinking of the pain he must be in. If he can even feel anymore.  
  
“Ah, yes. Stiles. He stayed the longest. Tried so hard with you, even after you rejected him for all the stupid reasons you made up: too young, too human, too weak if you ever faltered...the list goes on and on. Left him in a pretty bad state, you did. He left home at 20 and never looked back. His dad has been looking for him for 5 years, even though he’s pretty sure he’s dead. Peter caught wind of him in Sacramento and scooped him up pretty fast, taking him into the pack and, instead of making him stronger or making him one of them, they broke him even more until he is reduced to this.”  
  
The other man fucks Stiles harder and harder, clawing into him and howling. Tears well up in Stiles' eyes as he squeezes them shut. Peter and the other wolf laugh.  
  
“This is his life now. The pack owns him, does with him as they please. And he stopped caring a long time ago.”  
  
Derek can’t breathe. The rage overtakes him, flows through him like ice and fire all at once. The wolf inside him is clawing beneath his skin to get out and find a way to kill everyone and get to Stiles. He can feel his fangs descend and he knows his eyes are glowing red.

  
“Now, now, Derek. There’s nothing you can do here, so put those away. Scott, Isaac, the others? They get over it. They move on and eventually settle into new packs. Peter? Without you to ground him, he's left to act on his every whim without consequence. And Stiles? Well, losing you like that, watching you whither away like he did his own mother, watching his closest friends run away from you and leaving him, too, while he chose to fight longer, out of love, it ruined him forever.  
  
“Take me back, Spirit! Take me back to the past and let me fix this!” He grasps at the spirit’s cloak, ripping the fabric.  
  
“I can fix everything! I can prevent this from happening to him! Take me back so I can save Stiles! Please! I’ll do anything, spirit!”  
  
“Are you telling me that you care for him?” The spirit is nonplussed by Derek's attacks.  
  
“Yes, Spirit! Yes! Always! I just didn’t want him to get hurt! I didn’t think I was worthy enough to have him risk his life to be with me!”  
  
The spirit throws back his hood to reveal horrid disfigurement  and black eyes tinged with fire. “You fool! He’s already risked his life for you many times! Willingly! And you were too blind to see why! It’s too late now, Derek! See what his heroic life is reduced to! The life you once saved before only to have it end like THIS!”  
  
A flash of lightning, the howl of wind and rain, and they are in a cemetery.  
  
Derek squints through the rain and sees a headstone in front of him with a man kneeling in front of it. Derek runs up to it.  
  
Sheriff Stilinski, older, weary, and crying, places flowers on the grave. The darkness obscures most of the headstone, but Derek can make out the name Stilinski and the date of death: 2019.  
  
“Spirit! Is this Stiles’ grave! Does he die this young!”  
  
The Spirit pulls his hood back up around his face. He is solemn once again. “They find his body mutilated, emaciated, in a ditch in Carmel. They never find his murderers. He never knows love or happiness again after he leaves Beacon Hills and he dies alone and scared. You did this, Derek. You never told him how you felt. You pushed him away and right into this evil that finally killed him.”  
  
“Spirit, no! Please take me back! I can’t take any more of this! Just take me back and I’ll make this right! I promise! Please! Give me a chance!”  
  
Derek claws at the spirit’s cloak, pulling yards and yards of it from the spirit, never getting closer to him. He screams, begs, and cries at the spirit, but it begins to dissipate in the same mist from which it formed. Still he pulls on the cloak until it wraps around him, suffocating him, trapping him between layers of fabric. He tries to yell but it fills his mouth, choking him until everything turns black.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Concluded


	5. Chapter 5

Derek awakes with a start, wrestling with an old blanket he keeps on his chair. He’s in the train station. He’s alive! He grabs his phone and looks at the time. It’s nearly 10:30 Christmas Eve.  
  
It was all a dream.  
  
  
It was all a dream, but he knows what he has to do.  
  
He races around the station putting the finishing touches on the tree and hanging the rest of the lights, making sure to unplug everything for now. He makes a few phone calls to whatever restaurant may still be open this time of night on Christmas Eve and places a big order and finally he sends out a text to his entire Pack--including Stiles and Peter.  
  
 _Get here @ midnight. Emergency. Don’t even think about bailing. Bring Allison and Lydia, too, Scott. This concerns them as well._  
  
  
It’s 5 to midnight and people start to trickle in one by one, confused and concerned.  
  
There’s murmuring amongst the Pack and Derek tries really hard not to give himself away too soon.  
  
Peter saunters in and flops down on a chair impatiently. All eyes turn to him in surprise, especially Lydia’s, but maybe there can be more than one salvation tonight.  
  
“Ok, Derek. We’re all here. You mind getting this over with? I’m late for my midnight snack.” Derek contemplates snarking on that remark, but it’s entirely possible that Peter isn’t talking about food and he just...doesn’t want to know.  
  
“Wait, Peter, you’re going to have to wait a bit longer. We’re still missing one.”  
  
Peter looks around at the gathered Pack. Derek can see him silently count the people in the room.  
  
“No, we’re all--you mean, _Stiles_?” He raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Yes, I mean Stiles. We can’t do this without him. He’s Pack, too.”  
  
Allison looks around tentatively as she raises her hand like she’s in school. “Ummm...Derek...do what, exactly? I mean, you’ve never insisted on Lydia or me at one of these things. Is there some kind of trouble? I mean, big trouble?”  
  
Derek puts on his best serious face.  
  
“Yes. But we have to wait for Stiles.”  
  
But it’s 12:01 and there’s no Stiles. 12:02. 12:03.  
  
And Derek’s hopes fall with the realization that it may be too late.  
  
At 12:04 the impatience in the room is palpable. Derek closes his eyes in resignation; Stiles isn’t coming.  
  
He makes the difficult decision to go on without him, images of the beaten and broken future Stiles swimming in his head.  
  
He takes a deep breath and stands to face his Pack. They all stare at Derek with a healthy amount of trepidation save Peter, who just looks kind of bored.  
  
“Something has come to my attention tonight. Something that threatens each and every one of us. It’s bigger than a new werewolf pack or the wraith we’re hunting right now. And, unfortunately, it’s kind of my fault.”  
  
Peter rolls his eyes in a huff as if to say, “ _naturally_ , _what have you done_ now” but the rest of the Pack stays silent.  
  
“In fact, it’s all my fault. And first off, I need to say--”  
  
The door behind him opens quietly. He turns quickly to see Stiles in a Santa suit trying to make a stealthy entrance. He stops when he realizes all eyes are on him.  
  
“What? I was handing out Christmas cookies at the station. It’s kinda my thi--you know, I’m just gonna sit down now.”  
  
Derek’s heart swells. It’s not too late.  
  
“ANYWAY. As I was saying. I need to tell each and every one of you something. It’s the most important thing I’m going to say for a long time, I think, so please listen carefully: Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Allison, Lydia, Peter...Stiles...I’m sorry.”  
  
Everyone looks at him, silent and even more confused than before.  
  
Scott finally breaks the silence after a minute, “Sorry...for what?”

  
He can’t look anyone in the eye. “Guys, I’ve been...for lack of a better word...an asshole. I’ve been pushing all of you away and even more so this week and I’m sorry. I’ve seen now how it affects people and I want to try to make this right. You were right, Scott. No one should be alone on Christmas. It’s a time for family and friends and since...since the...look, you’re all part of my family now. All of you. And it wasn’t right that I--I actually really love Christmas. It was a big family thing before...”  
  
He risks a glance at Peter, who actually smiles affectionately at the memories, and looks back down to the ground.  
  
“It’s just since then I haven’t really been in the mood to celebrate. Haven’t really had anyone to celebrate with. And now I think I do. So, if you’ll forgive me for being a douche--a bigger douche--this week, I would love to have you all stay for a late dinner here right now. It’s not ham and potatoes and pie, it’s Chinese, but...”  
  
He looks up finally to see half a dozen smiling faces looking at him.  
  
Isaac stands first and rubs his hands together. “So, where’s this feast? I’m starving!”  
  
The Pack has gathered chairs and made a makeshift table by the Christmas tree, all lit up now. The food isn’t gourmet or home cooked, but the strings of lights adorning the walls and columns give it a warm glow that hides most of the salty grease.  
  
The conversation is light and happy, everyone telling stories of wacky family traditions and crazy past Christmases. The Pack refuses to let Stiles change out of his Santa suit. Scott begs him to wear the beard, but it seems that is where Stiles draws the line. Peter regales everyone with tales of a young Derek at Christmas time and they all laugh at the thought of a five year old Derek staying up all night to wait for Santa, flashlight in hand and a plate of cookies in the other.  
  
“What? I’m a werewolf! Not believing in Santa when you’re a werewolf is screwed up! If I exist, so does he!”  
  
Scott giggles.“Yeah, Santa coming down the chimney to give baby Derek his first leather jacket! Tell me, did you have stubble back then, too? Were you born with a five o’clock shadow?”  
  
“And baby me STILL looked more manly than you now!”  
  
Everyone explodes with laughter and Derek feels something damned close to content. But there’s a big thing holding him back from it that he still needs to deal with.  
  
Scott raises his glass of soda. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”  
  
The rest of the group follows suit, clinking glasses as well as Solo cups can clink.  
  
Dinner is over and the time and all the food weigh on everyone. No one really wants to leave, but as almost everyone has obligations later on in the day, they decide together to end the festivities around 2.  
  
Allison and Scott file out first, followed by Boyd and Erica. Lydia and Peter had been talking intensely in a corner of the room for a half hour or so and Lydia had not yelled or punched him in that time. They stand and shake hands. It’s not entirely cold but it’s not exactly warm and friendly. He could hear snippets of their conversation now and then and it contained Peter’s best attempt at an apology he’d ever heard, so at least, Derek thinks, he’s trying.  
  
Lydia adjusts her dress and gives Peter a wary smile as he wishes her a sincere “Merry Christmas.” It’s a start, Derek guesses.  
  
She leaves and Isaac offers to walk her out--to be safe. Only Peter and Stiles remain.  
  
Peter walks over to Derek and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Well, nephew, that was--” He raises an eyebrow at Derek. “You know something? I’m still hungry. I’m gonna--I’m going to go out to the forest...look for boar or something. Merry Christmas, you two.”  
  
Derek knows he’s giving off some strong signals right now concerning his desire to talk to Stiles alone. Peter mouths “Merry Christmas, kid,” and winks on his way out.  
  
Stiles looks around and notices he’s the last one left.  Derek remembers what the spirit told him about how Stiles stuck around longer than everyone else and he smiles at the irony.  
  
“Well, I guess I should be going, too....” He heads toward the door  
  
“Stiles, wait. I need to talk to you.”  
  
Stiles stops in the doorway, grasping the handle to open it. “Yeah, Derek?”  
  
“I--uh--I just wanted to say I’m sorry to you. Personally. I was pretty bad earlier.”  
  
“It’s ok, Derek--” Stiles turns, but Derek grabs him by the wrist.  
  
“No, it’s not. It’s really not. I treated you like crap earlier and you don’t deserve that. You are amazing, Stiles. Really amazing. You’ve never once faltered or let me down and I seem to do nothing but that since we met.”  
  
Stiles cocks his head. “That’s not--”  
  
“Let me finish here. I’ve been operating under the assumption that I am not good enough for anyone to care about for a long time. That I had to intimidate or coerce people to get them to follow me. You’ve constantly challenged me, pushed back and defied me, and you’re still here. Willingly. That’s--that’s something special. I didn’t see it before. Or, I didn’t want to see it. You care for me.”  
  
Stiles blushes. “Yeah, but--”  
  
“Wait. Please. You care for me. And before now I would have pushed you away more because of that. I would have made some crap excuse, but it would really come down to how I felt I didn’t deserve something special. I would have told you it was too dangerous, but, you’re too stubborn to stay away from all the danger that is constantly around us, aren’t you? If something happened to either one of us and I didn’t tell you how I felt before it was too late....”  
  
“You mean....?” Stiles looks Derek right in the eye.  
  
Derek nods. “Yeah. Of course. How could I not?”  
  
Stiles grins. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Derek lets go of his wrist and Stiles runs out the door. He comes back a minute later with the present he’d tried to give him earlier.  
  
“You stupid, stupid man. Of course you deserve to be happy. That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say EVER.” He shoves the present in his hand.  
  
This time Derek doesn’t protest.  
  
“It’s kind of a silly present, really. I just thought of the things you hold dear and tried to tailor it to them.”  
  
Derek tears into the package and takes the gifts out one by one while Stiles explains each one.  
  
“A car waxing kit. Because you love your car.”  
  
“Leather conditioner. For your jacket. And...”  
  
Derek pulls out the last gift. It’s a plain black t-shirt. Stiles blushes again. “It’s just that...you were so funny trying on my clothes that time and I know you only like to wear black, so I got you something to make up for all those colors I made you wear.”  
  
Derek smiles as he holds it up to examine it.  
  
“Oh, yeah, umm...I estimated the size...it’s probably going to be a tight fit...on purpose.” Stiles grins sheepishly.  
  
Derek is taken aback. “Stiles...” he breathes. “I love it.”  
  
“Really?” Stiles’ heartbeat soars.  
  
Derek nods. “This is the first present I’ve gotten since...since my family died.”  
  
He can hear Stiles breathe in sharply. “Oh, Derek! I’m...God. All that time and you’ve been alone every holiday, every birthday since then?”  
  
“Yeah, but...” He doesn’t want to talk about the past. He’s here to change the future. “This means so much to me, Stiles. You actually taking the time to pick out something thoughtful.” He smiles. “What about the last thing I hold dear?”  
  
Stiles pauses. “I--uh--that was--what?”  
  
“You. Are you the last part of my present?” He lays the opened box down on the floor and takes Stiles’ hand.  
  
“Me? I mean, I guess I could go wrap myself and--”  
  
Derek grins and pushes Stiles up against the doorframe and tilts his chin with his finger. Stiles looks up to see what Derek had hung there earlier. “Mistletoe? Really?”  
  
Derek shrugs. “It would be impolite to break tradition. And I really should thank you for such a thoughtful gift.”  
  
He leans in close to Stiles, nuzzling his cheek with his own for a second before gathering up the courage to just go for it and kiss him.  
  
Stiles’ lips are warm and inviting, but Derek takes it slowly, not wanting the moment to end too soon. He could kiss Stiles for hours, he thinks. Especially when he makes the tiniest noise of approval into Derek’s mouth.  He bites a little on Stiles’ lower lip and it makes him melt into the doorframe, shaking a little as he uses it for support.

  
Stiles’ reaches for Derek’s face, cupping it gently on each side, bringing him even closer to him and the intimacy of this kiss, the fact that they are alone, it’s leading his thoughts to places they probably shouldn’t be going this quickly.  
  
Derek tries to calm himself a little, slow the kiss a bit, but Stiles must sense the moment Derek feels he is losing control and pushes the kiss deeper, his hands moving down his face to run up and down his arms, his hips, and Derek groans a little when Stiles pushes up his shirt to touch the skin underneath.  
  
Derek breaks the kiss and moves to kiss his throat and his neck, trailing to his ear so he can whisper, “Stiles, we should...I...God, I’m not going to be able to stop myself soon. We should slow it down. You’re...making me...you’re making it hard to stop myself.”  
  
Stiles pushes his hips against Derek’s. His erection is obvious through the furry polyester of his ridiculous outfit. “Don’t you dare stop. Not if you don’t want to. I’ve waited _years_ for you. I don’t know if you know this, but I am not normally this patient, so do us both a favor and don’t make me wait longer for you.”  
  
Derek places his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “Are you _sure_ , Stiles?”  
  
“Do you want me?” He asks it matter of factly, not trying to be seductive or insecure.  
  
“Yes. Yes, I do. Obviously.” Like he needed to ask at this point. He’s practically putty in Stiles’ hands. Not a position he’s used to at all and he can’t say losing control like this is a bad thing.  
  
Stiles surges forward and kisses him. “Then consider this your Christmas present to me.”    
  
And that’s all Derek needs to hear.  
  
He kisses Stiles for a long time, letting his hands roam wherever they find skin, but the suit hinders him too much after a while and he really needs it OFF now. He’d ditched the jacket at dinner, so he’s down to a plain white t-shirt and furry red bottoms with boots.  
  
Derek takes Stiles arms and pushes them up above his head. Stiles obediently keeps them there as Derek pulls the shirt off. Stiles kicks off the boots, ready to help with the bottoms, but Derek can’t stop touching the new skin he’s just discovered. He’s just as pale, paler even, under his shirt and there’s a fine dusting of hair that winds teasingly down his belly to end somewhere below his waistline.  
  
He wants to follow it with his tongue, but the cool air has hit Stiles’ skin, leaving his nipples temptingly hard. It would be unfair to leave them so cold and neglected, so he licks a trail from his neck, savouring the amazing noises Stiles is making. He licks a nipple with the flat of his tongue, stopping now and then to nibble it just to make sure Stiles is still with him.  
  
He licks across to the other one, tugging on it with his teeth and he’s pretty sure Stiles has stopped breathing now.  
  
“You ok up there, Stiles?”  
  
“Shut up shut up shut up.” Stiles fists a hand in Derek’s hair.  
  
“Mmmmm...bossy.”  
  
Derek’s next task is to finally get rid of those stupid bottoms. They are, thankfully, elastic-waist pants, so a quick shove and they are gone, leaving Stiles in tented boxers.  
  
Derek fists the outline of his erection through the fabric and Stiles moans, gripping his hair tighter, pulling upwards until Derek stands up. Stiles paws at his shirt and pants, as if trying to decide which one he wants off more. Derek raises his arms and lets Stiles slip his shirt over his head and it’s his turn to admire and touch and his hands feel so good on his skin that he could let him do it all night if they didn’t both have other pressing issues to deal with.  
  
Stiles fusses with the button and zipper on Derek’s jeans, hands trembling slightly, and he can’t stop staring at Derek’s face to look at what he’s doing down there. He seems to be searching for any sign of disapproval in Derek and he figures the best way to convey that he wholeheartedly approves of this action to Stiles is to reach down and do it himself, pushing his jeans and his underwear down so he is completely naked.  
  
Stiles gasps when Derek’s erection is freed and he pushes it up against Stiles’ hipbone. The warmth he finds there is amazing. Stiles doesn’t wait for Derek to finish the job on his clothes and pushes down his own boxers so he, too, can be naked.  
  
Derek doesn’t waste a second, grabbing Stiles’ cock and sliding up and down his length. Stiles makes a choked sort of noise and reaches for Derek, but Derek has another idea.

He wants to make sure that Stiles feels as good as he possibly can, considering how sad and lifeless he looked in the future. He feels the need to make up to him something that hasn’t even happened, hopefully won’t even happen, and something that Stiles doesn’t even have knowledge of. The guilt he felt watching Stiles get sexually tortured in the future, watching him be conditioned and obligated to provide sick pleasure, he wants this first time with Stiles to be about _Stiles_ and Stiles’ pleasure. Real, honest, pure pleasure. Sex with someone who cares for him, not someone who's using him for some sick perverse reason. He deserves nothing less.  
  
Derek drops slowly to his knees, never letting go of Stiles. He can hear his head bump the wall as it lolls back. Stiles must know what’s coming, then.  
  
He holds Stiles’ cock and runs his tongue over the tip of it, gauging his reaction. The hitched breath and moaned, “ _Oh, God, Derek_ ” let him go further, sucking on the head a little. The feel of him in his mouth, the taste, the feel of the soft skin there, it's amazing. Even more so listening to the noises Stiles is making.   
  
Stiles’ hands are back in his hair, restrained, like he wants to push his head a little more, but not wanting to ruin the moment if it’s too much.  
  
Derek’s free hand meets Stiles’ and he pushes himself to let Stiles know it’s ok to want more, to take more. Derek’s willing to give and give to Stiles. Whatever he wants. Whatever he needs. It’s his for the taking.  
  
Stiles hisses and pushes Derek’s head just a little. Derek opens up and takes more of Stiles in. More and more until Stiles is bumping the back of his throat. Derek opens his eyes and looks up to see Stiles watching him swallow him down. His eyes are dark; he looks intoxicated by the sight of it all.  
  
Derek starts moving, bobbing his head back and forth and using his tongue to ensure that no part of his cock is neglected. Stiles is slowly getting comfortable with directing the speed and depth and soon he’s helping Derek settle into a nice rhythm.  
  
“Oh, fuuuuuck, Derek. So gooooood.”  
  
Derek slides his hand across Stiles’ hips, belly, and back around to his ass. There’s not one part of him that isn’t perfect in his eyes, in his hands. He snakes his arm all the way around so he can steady Stiles’ shaking legs.  
  
He hollows his cheeks a bit and Stiles makes an inhuman noise that drives Derek insane. He can only imagine what he’ll sound like when he comes and he wants it to happen soon.  
  
But Stiles pulls up on Derek’s hair so he has to reluctantly let him go and stand up. Stiles pulls Derek close and takes both of them in his hand, tugging and sliding along Derek’s cock for toe-curling friction and wetness.  
  
“Want to make you come, too. Want to see your face, ok? I’ve imagined what it looks like for years, Derek, when I've made myself come. Let me see the real thing."

  
Derek goes white hot at the thought of Stiles touching himself to fantasies of him and Stiles’ warm hand on his dick is short-circuiting his brain.  
  
Stiles grips them tighter, pumping up and down while they look at each other. He thrusts into Stiles' fist, pushes closer so he can feel more of Stiles on him, around him, and grinding up against him. He wants to close his eyes and get lost in every sensation he's feeling, but Stiles' dark eyes are unflinching on him and he can't look away under such intensity. 

Derek’s always prided himself on his control, but tonight it’s non-existent and he’s coming all over Stiles’ hand and cock and belly with a hoarse growl that makes Stiles’ eyes go wide and his mouth open in a perfect “o” as he joins him a moment later, back arching and fist balled tightly into Derek’s shoulder. It’s beautiful, no tears, no pain, every sensation wanted and appreciated instead of being forced on him like he saw. He wants to make him come every day if this is what a happily satisfied Stiles looks like.   
  
They hold each other, breathing hard for a few minutes as they come down. Stiles must be exhausted, considering that it’s nearly 3 am. Derek guides him to the little bed he keeps at the station and they flop down on it together.  
  
“When does your dad get off work?” It takes a few tries to get the sentence out since Stiles won’t stop kissing him.  
  
“Mmmmm...he’ll be home around 7:30.”  
  
“I don’t trust you driving home right now. You’re too worn out. I’ll wake you at 6:45 so you can be home in time to see your dad, ok?”  
  
Stiles grins sleepily. He can hardly open his eyes. “Can you make it 5:45 instead?”  
  
“Yeah? Why? Is there something you need to do before then?”  
  
Stiles, eyes still closed, paws at the direction of Derek’s chest. “Yeah. You.”  
  
Derek laughs. “Oh! Oh, yeah. Definitely. You better get to sleep now, then.”  
  
“OK.” Stiles yawns. “Oh, hey, Derek?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Merry Christmas.”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Stiles.”  
  
And together they fall asleep. The first time of many, many to come.


End file.
